


Badauderie

by spatialvoid



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6887170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spatialvoid/pseuds/spatialvoid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy and Daniel face a more ordinary foe: gossiping neighbors.  </p><p>Originally posted on <a href="http://peg-carter.tumblr.com/tagged/fanfic/">Tumblr</a> in response to a series of prompts from <a href="http://lillianmmalter.tumblr.com/">@lillianmmalter</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Labor Day Weekend 1947

**Author's Note:**

> _"The term badaud (plural, badauds) comes from the French and has the basic meaning of 'gawker', or more neutrally, “bystander”. [...] The term badauderie (though not frequently used) refers to the act of gathering in a street crowd or gawking." (From[Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Badaud))_

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [@lillianmmalter](http://lillianmmalter.tumblr.com/) prompted on Tumblr: _I'd love anything Peggy/Daniel, but something about her meeting his nosy neighbors for the first time at a block party or something (such a scandal that he's switched girlfriends so quickly when Violet was such a good girl and this one seems off somehow. Have you seen the cut of her dresses? She actually sleeps over sometimes. It's clearly all about the sex with them) could be amazing. Alternatively, some or all of the girls bonding over surfing or something would be fab._
> 
> Summary: _Peggy and Daniel attend a neighborhood barbecue over Labor Day weekend. Gossip ensues, and the m-word (MAWWIAGE (I’m a big Princess Bride fan, alright?)) is introduced._

The weather’s unusually hot for early September (at least, it feels unusual to Peggy, but this is California, it’s probably not), and judging by the gentle roar of noise coming from both inside and outside the house, there’s quite the little crowd at the Hanover’s barbecue.

“Daniel! Come in, come in,” Mrs. Hanover says, and then she reaches out, shakes Peggy’s hand. “You must be Daniel’s new girlfriend!”

Peggy smiles, thoroughly uncomfortable. “Peggy Carter,” she says, “you must be Mrs. Hanover.”

“Call me Helen,” she replies, with a vaguely false smile, and then she gestures across the room to a balding man, about forty, “That’s my husband, Bob, over there. Come on through to the back.”

They make their way through the house (it’s the mirror image of Daniel’s, Peggy notes, and there’s something unsettling about the uniformity) to the small fenced backyard, where there are tables covered with assorted food offerings. Peggy’s carrying an apple torte that Mr. Jarvis had very kindly offered to make when she’d approached him that morning in a panic, asking “What, in God’s name, is a potluck supper?”

“Just set that there,” Mrs. Hanover says, gesturing to an empty spot on the desserts table, and then she vanishes, presumably to greet the next guests.

Daniel puts his arm around her waist and then leans in, whispers in her ear. “You ready to go yet?”

She laughs, quietly. “If only we could. It’s just a couple of hours, Daniel, not the end of the world.”

“Oh, I know,” Daniel replies, dry and sarcastic, “I’ve faced that. It was easier. More fun, too, even if you count the part where I almost died.”

Peggy shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Don’t be overdramatic.”

He smirks. “Just telling it like it is, Peg.”

A woman, several years Peggy’s junior, strides up to them with a wide, fabricated smile on her face. “Danny!” She says, and Peggy looks at Daniel, raises her eyebrows as if to say  _who on earth is this woman and why is she calling you Danny?_

“Hello, Martha,” he says, sounding thoroughly irritated, and Peggy has to choke back a laugh. 

“Is this your new girlfriend?” Martha asks, ignoring Peggy entirely. “Helen told me that poor Violet seems to have just disappeared into thin air, which is too bad. She was such an angel.”

Daniel looks past irritation, now, and more angry than anything else. “Martha, this is Peggy Carter,” he answers, and Peggy reaches out her hand to shake Martha’s, but Martha waves her away. “Peggy, this is Martha Gaines. She and her husband Richard live three houses over.”

“Nice to meet you,” Peggy says sweetly, and Martha smirks.

“Nice to meet you, too,” she replies, less than sincerely, and, god, Peggy wants nothing more than to get out of this conversation, but Martha beats her to it. “Well, I’ve got to run; Helen wants my help in the kitchen. Enjoy yourselves.”

Daniel holds his breath until she disappears into the house, and then he lets out a wide exhale. “The nerve of some people,” he says under his breath, and Peggy laughs.

“Married women are notoriously gossipy,” she replies, not at all bothered.

He rolls his eyes. “For my sake, I hope you won’t be,” he says with a grin, teasing, and Peggy stares at him blankly, unsure of whether or not he realizes what he’s just said.

“I’ll just go inside and get us something to drink,” she says, totally and completely flustered by his unintentional admission. “Lemonade?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, and as she turns to walk into the house she sees a wave of realization come over him. “Peggy, I-“

She waves him aside, attempting to act calm and collected. “We’ll talk about it later. I’ll be right back.”

It’s cool inside the house, and dimly lit. There’s a group of women congregated in the kitchen, and Peggy can hear their loud whispering above the dull hum of the conversation in the rest of the house.

“She seems very full of herself,” Peggy hears Martha whisper, and she stops. They’re talking about her, she thinks, and so she casually approaches the table of hors de oeuvres in the dining room and looks over them contemplatively as she listens.

“She stays the night at his house sometimes, have you noticed?” Another voice, Mrs. Hanover, maybe. There’s a few disapproving clucks from some of the other women.

“Violet was such a nice girl,” another woman says, and Peggy rolls her eyes. Nice, yes, but also wise and discerning, with a bullshit detector miles wide.

“What do you think she sees in him?” Martha asks, and Peggy comes to an abrupt, startled stop, and tries her hardest not to stare right at her, right through her. “I mean he’s cute, sure, but who’d want a man with just one leg?”

The other women hum their assent, and Peggy marches, as calmly as she can under the circumstances, into the kitchen and begins pouring lemonade from a pitcher into two paper cups. They’re all staring at her, she notices, and as she leaves the kitchen the whispers begin again, so she pauses and holds the screen door open for a woman carrying a baby.

Martha’s voice is lower now, and carries a scornful tone. “Have you seen what she’s wearing? If I were that well-endowed, I’d be spending all of my time trying to cover up. She’s just out there, flaunting it all for the whole world to see.”

“It won’t last,” another woman, the same one who’d made the remark about Violet, says, and Peggy rolls her eyes at this and walks out into the backyard, to the man who mere moments earlier had let slip a comment about marriage. (Personally, Peggy thinks that hardly more than a month in is a bit too soon to be thinking about these things, but he’s always had eyes for the future.)

“Thanks,” Daniel says, taking one of the paper cups from her hands, and she smiles tersely.

“I can’t,” Peggy says with a grimace, “imagine spending that much time discussing the lives of people I barely know.”

“More gossip?” He asks, tweaking an eyebrow.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes. My presence in your life appears to have scandalized your entire neighborhood.”     

He smirks. “Too bad.”

Peggy gently shoves his shoulder, not enough to throw him off-balance. “It’s ghastly, the way they were talking about your life like it was a commodity to be freely traded.”

“Gossip  _is_  a commodity, honey,” Daniel says, and she rolls her eyes again.

“I know,” she mutters, “but it would be nice if they waited until the people to be discussed weren’t actually around.”

“Hey,” he says, his voice suddenly gentle and upset, “don’t listen to them.”

“I heard them, Daniel, but I didn’t listen,” she says. “I know where you and I stand; I just didn’t particularly enjoy their outside observations.”

He purses his lips, takes a sip of his drink. “Okay. Listen, about what I said before you went in there-”

Her eyes narrow at this and he clenches his jaw, obviously distressed. “Peg-“

“It’s fine, Daniel,” she says. “I was just surprised.”

“So you-“

She shakes her head. “I’m certainly not opposed to the idea, but I think it’s a bit soon to even be entertaining it. Is that… is that alright?”

Her eyes are uncertain, and it brings up a memory of mere weeks before, of her kissing him and then pulling away, cautiously, with a questioning look in her eyes.

He lets out a wide exhale and grins, and she feels all the tension melt away. “Perfect.”

“Now,” she says, taking his hand, and she’s smiling, “let’s figure out a way to survive the rest of this abominable gathering.”


	2. Winter 1947-48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [@lillianmmalter](http://lillianmmalter.tumblr.com/) prompted on Tumblr: _Oo! A continuation: Jarvis picks Peggy up from Daniel's house a few months later and the neighborhood gossips are certain she's cheating on him, because why else would they be that familiar with each other._

“Sousa’s girl stayed the night again,” Martha says, peering out the Hanover’s front window in an attempt to get a clear view of Daniel Sousa’s house.

Helen comes up to the window, pulls the curtain to the side. “Hmm.”

They watch as the couple stands on the front porch, facing each other, talking. The woman – Peggy, Martha thinks her name was – is barefooted and not wearing any stockings, and is without the bright lipstick that seems to be her signature. Her hair is pulled back loosely, and it’s a shame she’s so hard to like, because she _is_ beautiful. Peggy pulls Sousa into a hug, and then presses her lips to his cheek. His hands drift lower than is generally considered proper as she moves to kiss him properly, and Martha nearly chokes on her coffee, because they’re practically in _public_ , for heaven’s sake.

“Good heavens,” Martha exclaims, “they’re putting on quite the show.”

Helen just rolls her eyes. “Unsurprising.”

Martha shoots her a pointed look. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

She shrugs and glances out the window again. “She spends the night a lot, and I’d bet money that neither one of them is sleeping on the couch.”

Martha looks down at her coffee cup. “Hmm.”

“He’s leaving,” Helen says, and Martha peeks back out the window to see Peggy tidying his hair as he presses a kiss to her cheek, hand lingering on her hip for a moment before he walks to his car and waves goodbye. Peggy stands on the porch for a moment, watching him drive away, a soft smile on her face, and then she turns on her heel and goes back into the house.

“Well, that was _sickeningly_ sweet,” Martha huffs, and Helen rolls her eyes at Martha and takes her coffee cup.

“More coffee? I think the cookie dough’s done chilling.” Helen goes into the kitchen, and Martha follows.

“Sure,” Martha replies, twisting her hands absently.  

Helen’s eyes narrow as she puts on another pot of coffee before pulling the bowl of cookie dough from the icebox. “You know, you need to deal with your little crush on Sousa.”

It’s Martha who rolls her eyes this time (but not before sneaking a spoonful of cookie dough). “I _don’t_ have a crush on Sousa.”

“Martha, honey, you’re _married_.” Helen swats her hand away from the bowl.

“So are you – and with three kids, I might add – but that doesn’t keep you from making eyes at Harry Johnson when you think Bob’s not looking.” Martha tosses the spoon in the sink and crosses her arms defensively.

“ _Martha._ ” There’s the distinct slam of a car door outside. Helen pauses and squints to look through the front room and out the window. “Is someone here?”

Martha shrugs. “I dunno.”

Helen looks at Martha, at the stove, and then at Martha again. “Can you check? I don’t want to burn this.”

Martha nods and goes to make her way out of the kitchen. “Sure.”

She pulls the curtain back to look out the window again, but no one’s there. There is, however, a car parked across the street at Sousa’s house, and a gangly looking fellow in a three-piece suit is pacing the length of the front porch between knocks on the door.

“Anyone?” Helen’s voice carries to the front room.

“Not here,” Martha replies. “Just some fella across the street at Sousa’s.”

The cooking noises coming from the kitchen stop, and Helen comes out to the front room to peer out the window, wiping her hands on her apron. She watches interestedly as Sousa’s girlfriend opens the door and greets the man warmly before handing him two small suitcases.

“Interesting,” Helen says, and she turns back towards the kitchen.

“Who do you think he is?” Martha lets the curtain slip back in front of the window and follows Helen.

“I don’t know,” Helen replies, pulling open the oven door and sliding a sheet full of cookies in. “How many do you think I should make? This is only a quarter of the dough.”

Martha shrugs, glancing over at the cookie sheet before Helen closes the oven. “Depends. How much will twenty Catholic grandmothers eat?”

Helen rolls her eyes. “More’n you’d think. Better bake it all.” She pauses to glance out the window. “He’s awfully gangly.”

Martha crosses her arms and looks scornfully at the man who’s putting Sousa’s girlfriend’s suitcases in the trunk of his car while she stands on the lawn and talks to him quite animatedly. “Yeah, Sousa’s cuter.”

This garners another eye-roll from Helen. “Martha.”

“He is!” She pulls the curtain farther back from the window.

“We _just_ talked about this,” Helen scolds. “You’re shameless.”

Martha eyes the front window suspiciously. “Do you think she’s cheating on him?”

“ _Martha!_ ”

“Anything’s possible,” she says, moving to look out the window again to see Peggy grabbing at the man’s arm in what looks like an attempt to halt his wild gesticulating.

Helen watches as Peggy leads the man by the arm to the driver’s side of the car. “I don’t know, maybe.”

Martha turns to look at her, surprised. “Really?”

“She looks real friendly with him,” Helen says, noting that Peggy’s face is flushed pink and embarrassed (what she doesn’t know is that Jarvis is berating her about the number of nights she’s been spending at Daniel’s), “and Sousa may be cute, but he’s still only got one leg.”

* * *

“Cookies?” Helen holds out the plate to the confused man in front of her.

Daniel accepts the plate hesitantly. “What’s the occasion?” 

“Church ladies weren’t all that hungry last night,” Helen replies calmly, “and the kids didn’t need more’n a dozen.”

He sets the plate down on the table just inside the door. “Um. Thanks. I’m afraid I probably can’t eat ‘em all, though.”

Helen just shrugs his remark off. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, I’m sure your girlfriend will want some.”

She watches his eyes soften. “She’s my fiancée, actually. And she’s out of town right now.”

“Oh, congratulations!” She’s more surprised than she ought to be, given the number of nights the woman’s spent at his house in the past few months. “I did see her leaving with some fella yesterday morning, but I didn’t know she was _leaving_ leaving.” If she’s going to do this, she’s going to be cautious, careful. Martha would dive into it headfirst, but Helen’s not interested in making a fool of herself.  

He nods. “She travels a lot for her job, and I couldn’t take her to the airport ‘cause I had to work.”

She decides to pry further. “Where does she work? She seemed pretty happy to see the guy.”

He gives her a wary look, but answers as though he’s unfazed. “The phone company. And she ought to have been, he’s an old friend.”

He wants her to leave, probably, and if she had an answer for Martha, she would. “This friend… he married?”

He lets out a laugh. “Yeah, but why’re you asking? Having problems with Bob?  Harry Johnson not panning out?”

You know, she’d _thought_ he was a nice man.

“He’s _devoted_ to his wife, actually,” Sousa adds, and there’s not a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“So you’re not worried?” She’s made a fool of herself now, for sure, but it’s too late to back out, walk away.

He’d never really stopped laughing, but he laughs harder. “Worried? About Peg and Jarvis?” He’s now laughing so hard he’s shaking, gripping the doorframe to keep from toppling over. “I think that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard so far this week.”

Her eyes narrow and she hopes she’s doing a halfway decent job of hiding her current state of mortification. “I was just concerned.”

He smiles, but she’s the resident expert of the false smile, so it’s easy to detect the forced note to it. “Sure you were,” he replies, and she doesn’t like the knowing, sarcastic tone to his voice. “It’d be a nice little bit of gossip for the neighborhood, wouldn’t it? Sousa’s girl, cheating on him with some other guy. That’s the kind of stuff you folks talk about for weeks.”

She doesn’t have a dignified response, so she chokes out a startled “I hope you like the cookies,” and then pauses, determined not to flee the scene like a frightened child. Martha would do that, but she’s ten years and three children wiser than her. Not that that’s saying much. “They’re oatmeal raisin.”

He tips his head forward in half a nod. “Thanks.” He takes a breath and goes to close the door between them. “Those’re my favorite.”


End file.
